Fekking Florrum
by FettsOnTop
Summary: A pesky pirate owes money to Jabba the Hutt. Who better to send than Jabba's favorite bounty hunter? Who better to take him but Jabba's favorite smuggler? Written for the Star Wars Rarepair Exchange.


Gray.

That's all I can see. But it's getting lighter, and I'm starting to remember where I am, and how I got here.

Jabba's palace. Solo. Florrum. Crash landing. Pirates. Concussion grenade.

 _Fek._

"No, hey, I'm not saying you _can't_ take it, I'm just saying you might not _want_ it. I don't know how familiar you are with the Corellian garment industry, but-"

Solo's voice is cut off by the sound of a fist landing hard. He's wheezing like he got suckerpunched.

My vision has returned, but I'm facedown on a duracrete floor and I don't want them to know I'm awake. My helmet's gone.

"Okay, fine," Solo gasps. "But it usually takes at least three drinks to get my pants off, pal."

Hands start to pull at my gauntlets and boots. My turn.

I stay limp, focusing on my breathing. They took my helmet, and all the obvious stuff. Wristshooters, jetpack, belt. I count at least three pairs of hands pulling at the rest of it, and out of the right corner of my eye I can see a pair of boots standing about two meters away.

So. At least four.

I spare a second to wonder if Solo will be any _fekking_ use, and then my hands are against the floor and I'm rolling. A Weequay trips over my legs and falls with enough momentum that my knee makes a satisfying crack against their skull.

One down.

I slip the vibro-blade out from under my breastplate and ram it into a thick green calf. Gamorrean, probably. I roll up to the balls of my feet only to see a Lasat rushing at me with snarl. She swings her staff at my head.

Not my first choice of weapon, but I'll take it.

A blast of heat slams into me, knocking me back. Stun bolts. My breastplate absorbs most of it, but it stings like a banthafucker. The Lasat reclaims her weapon and swings low, dropping me to my knees.

There's a blaster barrel in my face now. I look past it, taking in the run-down hanger bay. _Fek_ , that's a lot of pirates. Thirty, at least. They seem mildly annoyed.

The Mirialan holding the blaster is slightly more than annoyed. He turns the pistol in his hand and hits me across the face with it. I taste blood.

He moves back, and a tall, broad-shouldered human woman steps into my line of sight. I know her instantly. Eva Solonge. My target.

She's holding my helmet in her hands, passing it back and forth between them. Her wiry gray hair sticks out from under her turban, and she stares me down with strange, pale eyes. Hands grab at my arms and back again, taking away my breastplate and shoulder guards.

I catch a glimpse of Solo, who's down to his shorts. He looks worried. Good. This is his fault to begin with. I told him not to try to land in that gully.

"So," Solonge says while her men are still stripping me. "Fancy yourself a Mandalorian, do you?"

I don't answer. Solo answers for me.

"Look, this is all a big misunderstanding. We don't want any trouble. My friend here...he's just a little jumpy. I'm sure he feels terrible about that-" He gestures towards the Weequay picking himself up off the ground, and the Gamorrean holding his leg. "And that. You feel terrible about it, right?" He looks meaningfully at me.

Solonge nods to the Lasat, who unfurls a energy lash from her belt.

"Whoa. There's no need for that. I can take a-"

The whip catches Solo across his chest, leaving a bright red mark across his pale skin. He swallows a harsh gasp as he doubles over and then and lifts his hands in a silent gesture of surrender.

The Lasat circles me as the others finish pulling off my pants. I'm down to my shorts now too, barefoot on the duracrete floor.

Solonge moves closer. "You think I wouldn't recognize two of Jabba's goons?" She nods over my shoulder, and the lash burns across my back.

"Never liked Mandalorians," she says slowly, turning my helmet upside down. "I think I'll fill this with your blood and send it back to your boss. How much do think it'll hold? Enough to kill you?"

The lash strikes again. It's the kind of pain that makes your eyes water.

"Again," she commands. It's even worse when you expect it.

"Look, you're right." Either Solo hasn't learned his lesson or he's just feeling left out. "We work for Jabba. But our business here, it has nothing to do with you. Whatever your deal is with Jabba, and I'm sure you have _very good reasons_ , maybe we can help."

The Lasat turns toward him, the whip raised. I think everyone is a little surprised when Solonge holds up a hand. "Wait." She moves toward Solo at a leisurely pace. "This one likes to talk."

Oh, _fek_.

"You were the pilot," she says, not really a question but Solo nods.

"Yeah."

"Many pilots have died trying to land between the cliffs. How would you like to come work for me?"

His eyes widen. " _Kriff_. I mean, no offense. You just...caught me off guard."

"It's a genuine offer," she says, her face inscrutable. "Of course, it doesn't extend to the Mandalorian."

"Right." Solo looks like he doing some advance navigational computing in his head. "Can I...think about it? Maybe sleep on it?"

She stares at him for a moment, and then turns crisply away. "Sure. Put them in lockup for the night," she says to the Lasat as she walks back toward the hangar bay entrance.

They put binders on both of us, and the Lasat's staff digs unpleasantly into the welts on my back she prods us forward. "Lockup" seems to be a couple of empty storage rooms in the back of the hanger. There's an old med droid standing guard.

"Hey Emdee," the Lasat says. "Got a few overnight guests for you. Don't feed 'em. Captain will want to see them first thing in the morning."

"Affirmative." The droid's optical sockets turn red as it scans over Solo. "Human. Twenty-four years standard." It swivels in my direction. "Human. Sixty-six years standard."

Solo gives a surprised laugh. "Damn. You aged pretty well, huh?"

"You sure about that, Emdee?" The Lasat side-eyes me.

The droid beeps. "Identity confirmed. Jango Fett. Fractured collarbone. Eight sealing splits. Two weeks rest. You are overdue for your follow up, Master Fett."

"Jango Fett is long dead," the Lasat informs the droid. "Maybe you want to refresh your data banks."

I've got a hunch. "You used to run with Hondo's crew?"

"Hon-Hondo?" There's a grinding noise somewhere in the droid's circuit box. "I do not. Recognize. That name."

"Enough chit-chat," the Lasat growls. She brandishes her whip and motions for me to enter one of the dark cells. Solo follows me, and the door slams shut.

The only light is from a dusty air vent in the ceiling. The room is completely bare. This going to be a long night.

"So how old _are_ you?" Solo asks. "And what was all that about?"

A _very_ long night.

He sits down on the floor with his knees tucked up, his binders rattling as he wraps his arms around them. "Are you really going to do the silent thing all night?"

That's exactly what I'm going to do. I don't have anything to say to someone who could walk out of here tomorrow. I take a moment to consider how hard it would be strangle him with my bare hands, but whether he's alive or dead, my situation doesn't change.

I sit down as far away from him as I can manage, copying his position. There's a damp chill in the air and my shorts are my only protection from the cold floor. There's a fetid smell too, like someone pissed in here and it wasn't cleaned up well. My back aches from the energy lash, and there's still a coppery aftertaste in my mouth from my split lip.

" _Kriff_ ," Solo mutters. "Are you as cold as I am?"

I shouldn't take the bait. I know I shouldn't take the bait. "Why?"

"I was just thinking...we could do the ol' trooper spoon, you know? Might be warmer."

I drop my head forward on my arms, because I can't _fekking_ believe I'm considering this.

"I know your back's gotta hurt, because my chest hurts, so you could be the outer spoon. That's probably more your speed anyway..." The jocularity fades from his voice and he sighs. "Look, I'm not trying to make this weird. I know I've got a reputation at Jabba's, but this is solely about body heat, okay?"

I exhale, my breath mercifully warm on my thighs. I lift my head and spread my knees, making a place for Solo between them. He crawls over, shivering, and tucks himself into that space with his back to my chest. This _is_ more my speed, not that I'm going to share that information with Solo. I maneuver my arms up around him. Right at his waist is the most comfortable, even though it puts my bound hands uncomfortably close to his crotch.

He _does_ have a reputation, and I know plenty of beings who would claim that it takes a lot fewer than three drinks to get Han Solo's pants off.

His naked back is warm, but he's still shivering. I start to worry that maybe I'm not holding up my end of this deal, so I tighten my arms around him, and try to maximize contact.

"Hey," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "This is kind of nice, huh?"

"You said you weren't going to make it weird."

"Yeah. Okay." He laughs softly. "It's better. I don't know if I can sleep, though."

"You're not the one that's going to be bled like a nerf tomorrow."

" _Kriffing_ hell. You don't think I'm actually going to join her crew, do you?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Oh, I don't know." There's a sharp bite of sarcasm in his words. "I don't like her? Jabba would have me shot on sight anywhere in Hutt territory? Common decency? Pick one. Look, we got into this mess together, we'll get out of it same way."

 _You_ got us into this mess. It's on the tip of my tongue, but I don't say it. It doesn't matter now. The important thing is whether he actually means what _he's_ saying. In this position, it would be ridiculously easy for me to slide my binders up to his throat and choke him, so any smart being would lie. But maybe he's not lying. He has a reputation as a braggart and a flirt but to the best of my knowledge no one's ever called him a cheat.

"I'm twenty-six," I offer.

"That seems about right. Why'd the droid ID you as some older Fett?"

"Jango Fett was my father."

"Oh." Solo takes a minute to digest that. "Somehow I just assumed you hatched out an armored egg."

He's closer to the truth than he knows. The piss stench is beginning to fade into the background. My nose is right by Solo's neck, which has a much nicer aroma. Sweat. A little hyperdrive oil. I tuck my chin and rest my forehead on his shoulder. My eyes close, not because I'm going to sleep, but because focusing on Solo's warmth and scent is so much better than anything else in this room.

"So who's Hondo?"

"You've never heard of Hondo Ohnaka?"

"The pirate? That Hondo?" Solo inhales sharply. "The droid was his?"

"Probably. He used to have a hideout on Florrum. He might still."

"Does that help us?"

I take my time responding. "It could."

"You still don't trust me," he huffs. "I could have let them whip the skin off your back, pal. Remember that."

"I need to think about it a little more. Work out a few details." I hug him a little, because he seems to find that distracting. "Try to get some sleep."

He clears his throat. "Right. Good idea."

It takes him a while. I can feel the tension in his back and shoulders a long time after he falls silent, but eventually his breathing evens out and he relaxes.

And eventually, so do I.

We sleep, wake up, adjust our positions and dose off again. The light filtering through the vent is really our only clue, and I'm awake when it turns from violet blue to gray. It's morning. I'm stiff and sore and still pretty cold. Solo's stomach rumbles, reminding me that I'm hungry too. And thirsty.

Solange is counting on all of these things to wear us down and make us cooperative. I wonder how cooperative Solo is feeling.

"I really hope you've got a plan," he groans. "Because I really don't wanna to do this again."

We separate, and he stumbles to his feet to stretch. He offers his hand to me and helps me up. Everything hurts.

"That's some fat lip you've got there," he observes. "How's your back?"

"Ehh."

"Yeah." He gingerly touches the welt on his chest and winces. "Okay. So, new day, new plan? Something about that droid?"

This is it. Either I trust him, or a I don't. Either I try to do this with him, or without him.

"Did you see the way it glitched when I mentioned Hondo? Someone overrode it's loyalty chip. Badly. With a few tools, I could reverse it and have it send a transmission to Hondo."

"You think he'll help us?"

"If he can do it while taking out a rival, yes."

"But you said you need tools."

"I have them. In my shorts."

His eyes drop.

"Rude, Solo."

"But-"

"I have a few small tools hidden here." I touch the band. "I'm surprised you couldn't feel them last night."

"I thought maybe you were just having a good time," he mutters. "Okay. So you can use the droid to call for help. But how do we do that unnoticed?"

"I need you to create a distraction. Tell Solonge you want to see her operation and meet her crew. Be as ridiculous and high-maintenance as possible. Should come easy to you."

"Hey. Speaking of rude."

"Can you handle it?"

"Of course I can." He puts his hands on his hips. "You're putting a lot of trust in me, Fett."

"I don't have a lot of options. Don't let it go to your head."

He grins at me, and I can tell it's too late. I can live with his arrogance, as long as he's on my side.

"All right," he says, squaring his shoulders. "Gotta take a leak anyway." He turns to the door and starts pounding on it. "Hey! Droid! I wanna see your boss!"


End file.
